TUNA FISH
by Azarr
Summary: Random GaaLee-ness. If it's not your cup of tea, go grab a coffee.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**:I do not have a penis. Therefore, it's rather unlikely that I have a name like _Masashi Kishimoto_, ain't it?

**Rating**: K? Maybe?

**Warnings**: None, really. Just hints of man-love, and abysmally short chapters.

**Spoilers**: If you haven't heard about Gaara's death, I just spoiled it for you :D Stay tuned for more spoilers, folks!

-----

It was cold, but Gaara ignored it.

It was windy - so windy, in fact, that it stung Gaara's skin and dyed it a bright, ugly pink - but Gaara did not care.

It was dark, and the shapes of the villager's homes were barely discernable in the twilight, but it didn't matter to Gaara.

"It hurts," he murmured softly enough that it did not carry far, but just loud enough that he was sure that Kankurou must have heard him.

There was a slight rustling of cloth on stone as Kankurou turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

It was hard for him to define a feeling; he had barely opened his mind to the concept of emotions, and, already, they seemed to have started running rampant, but Gaara tried his hardest to find the appropriate words when he clenched a hand over his chest and said, "Right here. It... aches."

Kankurou was silent for a few moments, and Gaara thought that he might have said something strange or wrong. He wanted to take back his words, but then Kankurou replied, "Do you want to talk about it?"

It was silent again, save for the wind whistling as it floated over sand-dunes.

Gaara did not want to talk about it, because he did not know what to say. His chest throbbed and he tightened his grip on his shirt.

With a soft sigh, Kankurou said, "If you don't want to, I can just-"

"Yes," Gaara interjected quickly, almost afraid that Kankurou's offer would be retracted if he did not say anything, and even more afraid that Kankurou would take back his words at his answer.

Kankurou sighed again, though he did not sound upset, and asked, "What do you mean 'it aches'?"

Gaara touched his chest lightly through his shirt and closed his eyes as he thought, the wind massaging his scalp almost calmingly. It was difficult to describe how he felt, because he wasn't quite sure.

He had never felt this before. Was it normal?

"It feels... heavy," Gaara said quietly.

Kankurou's thigh brushed against his slightly as the elder shifted into a more comfortable position. "Yeah?" Kankurou asked, heavily leaning his cheek into his hand.

"Yeah," Gaara replied. "I think I miss him."

Kankurou cleared his throat and enquired quietly, almost as if he was scared, "Who? Shukaku?"

"No," Gaara answered thoughtfully, "Rock Lee."

-----

And nao for the ridiculously long Author's Note.

Okay.

So.

Things have been happening.

I've started eleventh grade, and some twelfth.

I'm studying at least fourteen different subjects.

Some bitches at my school are spreading rumours about me. They're actually pretty funny, but it's still NOT COOL, peeps.

Anyway, my point is that - shockingly enough - I do actually have a life outside of writing FanFiction.

I am writing this because it is easy, and I feel like it. Don't question me, or I will smite you.

The title has no significance at all. I just felt like being a n00b. Search for a hidden meaning all you like, but you're never gonna find one.

So reviews are appreciated :D

(Yeah, it's GaaLee, for those of you who didn't pick it up.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**:I got plenty o' nuthin', and nuthin's plenty for me!

**Rating**: K? Maybe?

**Warnings**: None, really. Just hints of man-love, and abysmally short chapters.

**Spoilers**: You probably shouldn't be reading this unless you know about Sasuke's plans to destroy Konoha. More spoilers next chapter :D

-----

In his robes, it was hot.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck unpleasantly, no matter how used to heat he was, and his fringe stuck uncomfortably to his face.

Kankurou, to his left, reeked of day-old sweat, and Gaara was not sure how it was possible that his brother's face-paint had not dripped.

"You excited?" Kankurou asked, grinning happily.

Gaara stared out at the expanse of desert in front of him and answered honestly, "No."

Kankurou seemed satisfied with that answer, and let the matter drop; they continued in silence until nightfall.

After taking off his shirt and mopping his brow with it, Kankurou gestured toward the sky and commented, "It's nice out here."

Gaara did not answer, but made formless shapes with the sand in front of him.

Kankurou sat down heavily beside him and said slowly, almost hesitantly, "Gaara... We - Temari and me - think it's great that you want to be friends with Ro-"

Gaara's hand twitched and the sand surged forward, barely halting at Kankurou's feet. Gaara closed his eyes for a few moments to regain control of himself, and the sand slowly crept away from his brother.

He felt vaguely ashamed of himself.

"I said nothing about wanting to be friends with him," Gaara said firmly, hoping to bring an end to the matter.

He wondered if the cold feeling seeping into his chest and making it hard to breathe was fear.

Kankurou held up his hands in a defeated gesture. "We just think..."

The sand formed a four-leaf clover. Irritated, Gaara kicked at it. "You'd rather I didn't see him," he stated, feeling no small amount of annoyance.

"We just want you to be happy," Kankurou said quietly.

Gaara gave up on kicking the four-leaf clover away and instead forced the sand into a different and unrelated shape: a stick of dango. "I'm not happy, Kankurou."

Kankurou gave him an odd look - was it pity? - and asked, "Why?"

The stick of dango transformed into a _nymphaea zenker _- the Red Tiger Lotus.

"You have to ask?" Gaara asked, feeling suddenly frustrated.

They were both silent, and Gaara made the Lotus' petals wilt and fall to the desert floor. He didn't know whether he felt satisfied or disquieted.

"We're almost there," he said quietly.

Kankurou picked at his belt in a show of discomfort and said, "Gaara..." he trailed off, as if he didn't quite know what to say.

The sand fell suddenly still, and Gaara lay back to stare at the stars, wondering how many other people were seeing the same sky as he was, and how many of them - if any - were thinking of him.

He knew the answer as well as he knew his own hand, and pressed his palms against his closed eyelids, something inside of him leaping at the prospect of being in Konoha tomorrow.

He could sleep, but he wouldn't. He wasn't nearly tired enough. It was a pity; he did not want to stay up all night, thinking.

Just before he rolled over and let himself drift into a state of catatonic meditation, Gaara sneezed.

-----

And you know what they say about sneezing, kids :D

(In case you don't, the old wive's-tale or whatever you want to call it is that when you sneeze, someone is thinking about you.)

So I herd u liek mudkipz?

Two updates in as many minutes? Am I insane?

Maybe.

How could I say that?

I don't know.

I am such a bitch to me.

Yes, I am.

Reviews do not make my world go 'round, but they do make me happy, and, in the end, isn't that what life's all about - making other's happy?

So review, or YOU'RE NOT LIVING.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**:I'VE GOT TEH POWAH!

**Rating**: K? Maybe?

**Warnings**: None, really. Just hints of man-love, and abysmally short chapters.

**Spoilers**: Haven't heard about Jiraiya's death yet? You have now.

-----

Formalities, though necessary at times, bored Gaara.

The stiff hand-shakes; the curt, spasm-like nods; the brisk and entirely unnecessary greetings: Gaara did not like them.

It was an unfortunate nuisance that it was necessary for the Kazekage to attend the Chuunin Exams, and even more unfortunate that he had had to travel across a desert to do so.

He did not smell pleasant and nor did Kankurou, so he kept his meeting with the other Kage brief, and left as quickly as he could.

"What did you talk about?" Kankurou asked as they made their way to the hotel that they would be staying in.

Gaara observed the villagers staring at him and giving them a wide berth on the street. He did not blame them: he and Kankurou had not showered in three days.

He answered, "The Chuunin Exams," and cringed when his sweat-dampened hair clung to his head.

Kankurou smiled at the villagers that they walked past, and Gaara tried not to let his discomfort seem too obvious. His chest twinged, and he ignored it.

He didn't like to think about it, but there was the slightest possibility that he felt nervous, though he wasn't completely sure. His heart fluttered sporadically and something inside of his stomach fluttered oddly; he felt quite ill.

He did not like this feeling, and hoped that he never had to experience again.

When they reached the hotel, the clerk smiled at them and said, "Ah, Kazekage-sama! It's a pleasure to have you here!"

Gaara did not return the greeting, and the woman cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to get to your rooms, then?" she asked.

Gaara gave her a pointed look, and she hastened to hand him the key to the rooms. He immediately left the lobby, feeling the uncomfortable weight of people's eyes boring into the back of his skull, and quickly found the rooms.

Kankurou meandered after him and let out a low whistle. "Wow."

Unconcerned about their accommodation, Gaara put his things down and stepped into the overly-luxurious bathroom. He bathed quickly, intent on not wasting any more water than he had to, and left the steamy bathroom feeling refreshed.

"You haven't got any meetings tomorrow, so I thought we could- What are you doing?" Kankurou asked curiously, looking up from a pamphlet to give Gaara a surprised look.

Gaara unlatched the room's only window. Cool air blew onto his face, and he took a moment to simply stand there, letting the wind wash over him pleasantly.

"I'm going out," Gaara stated simply. He stood on the window-sill, and added as an after-thought, "I'll be back for dinner."

He jumped, feeling weightless for a few moments, before he landed gracefully on the street below him.

Several passer-bys stared at him. He walked away.

Konoha was large, bright, loud, and generally offensive to the senses. The stones and grass felt odd underfoot, and the sweet, crisp smell of decaying flowers invaded Gaara's nostrils. He didn't know if he liked it or not; it was certainly different, compared to everything that he knew.

Gaara walked aimlessly, having no particular destination in mind, and somehow didn't feel surprised when he slowed to a stop in front of Practice Area Number Forty-Four - or, as he had heard many people foolishly nickname it, the 'Forest of Death'.

He remembered tearing people apart ruthlessly; he remembered their screams, and the addictive scent of blood. He still did not feel guilty, though a sick wave of disgust almost made him turn away.

Suddenly, a loud voice reached his ears, and he stepped behind a tree, shrouding himself in darkness. He didn't fancy the idea of having to talk to someone.

"I must train! If I do not do three thousand kicks with each foot, I will do ten thousand punches with each hand!" someone declared loudly.

Though he felt that the goal was rather stupid, Gaara did not even bother to try to tell them to stop, because he knew that it would do no good.

It seemed that Rock Lee was just as loud and intense as Gaara remembered. Gaara felt as if he was going to vomit.

Gaara watched silently as Lee kicked a tree exactly a thousand times, his breath hitching when the tree fell and Lee leapt aside at the last moment, moving to kick another tree with his other foot.

Again and again, trees threatened to crush Lee and he moved away easily, as if he had been expecting it to happen all along. He counted the whole time, sounding barely out of breath.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Lee began to stop for drinks at shorter and shorter intervals, and eventually gave up on wiping away the sweat on his forehead, in favour of removing his shirt.

Gaara stared at Lee's naked torso, his eyes wide, and found that he could not tear his gaze from the small dimples in Lee's lower back. He wet his suddenly dry lips with his tongue and watched, caught between fascination and horror, as Lee continued to train.

When Lee finally stopped and laid back on the grass, his shins bleeding and sweat drenching his front, he closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the sky, smiling serenely to himself.

Gaara wondered what he was thinking about that could bring such a peaceful expression to Lee's face. He knew that it could never be him, and slowly managed to force himself to walk away from the small clearing that Lee had created, inwardly cursing his inability to simply turn around and say 'Hello'.

Walking through the village, Gaara thought about Lee's smile. Surely no one could be that carefree and relaxed; surely no one could feel so satisfied with themselves and everything around them.

Gaara didn't know what it felt like to feel so happy with his life that he simply laid back and let himself relax. He wondered how it would feel.

He walked into the hotel and ignored the clerk; he went straight to his room, and was mildly surprised to find Temari sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Hey, Gaara," Temari greeted him as he stepped into the room and toed his shoes off. "Anything happen that I should know about?"

Gaara joined her at the table and toyed with the edge of a menu, pretending to read over it. "No," he replied, knowing that she would not care to hear about Rock Lee's apparent talent for felling trees.

Temari hummed and drank another mouthful of her tea. Gaara knew that she had something to say; she always did when she drank tea. He didn't know why she didn't just say it.

Finally, after Temari had finished off her drink and stared at the plain table for a full five minutes, she looked up at him and said, "So... Kankurou told me you were feeling a bit off the other day... Do you want to talk about it?"

Gaara folded the menu into an origami crane and stared at the useless decoration for a few moments, amazed that _he_ had managed to create something so beautiful, before he crushed it in his fist and let his sand tear it to shreds.

Temari raised a brow, and Gaara sighed.

"I feel..." he began haltingly, "I feel... a... a weight. Here." He placed a hand over his heart and swallowed, feeling aggravated and edgy. "It feels... empty..." he continued uncertainly, "like something's missing."

Temari nodded slowly, as if she understood completely.

Gaara averted his gaze from his sister's, for the first time in his life, and said unsurely, "It just... slowly... aches..."

He felt more exposed than he ever had, and found that he did not like the scrutiny in Temari's gaze.

Finally, Temari enquired, "What do you think it might mean?"

"I... I want something," Gaara said hoarsely, his eyes wide; he cursed his voice for breaking at the last moment. "I've... I've never wanted anything before, Temari... I don't..." He was surprised at his own tenacity: he had never said so much about his own feelings before.

"What do you want?" Temari asked, her brows furrowed.

Gaara drew in a deep, shaky breath and tried to think of an answer. He thought of food, water, new clothing, and a new residence, and found that nothing seemed particularly satisfying to him.

With a sigh of frustration, Gaara looked out at Konoha's forests through the window and tried to imagine what he could possibly want.

Something in the forest flashed and several trees fell over. A loud shout followed, and something green streaked into the largest group of buildings in the village.

A sudden, intense ache startled Gaara and he stared down at his chest, where his fingers rested over his heart.

"I want..." Gaara murmured, seeing but not feeling his fingernails tear a small whole in his shirts and scratch at his chest. "I want a..."

Temari patiently sat silently, her eyes roaming the forests. The reds and pinks of the sunset played on her skin, casting abstract shadows across her face.

Gaara swallowed again, though his mouth was dry, and whispered, "I think... I want a friend."

Her mouth falling open slightly, Temari turned around to face him and asked disbelievingly, "A-A friend?"

The concept frightened Gaara, and made his chest ache more painfully. He did not know how to approach someone in such a way that they could look at him and say honestly, 'I would like to be friends with this boy.' Gaara was not someone that anyone liked, nor one that anyone _wanted_ to like, and the thought of being rejected the first time that he ever tried to achieve something was more terrifying to Gaara than the prospect of living alone for the rest of his life.

Gaara would not admit it to Temari, but he envied the ease with which she and Kankurou conversed with people. They found it so easy; it seemed to be an integral part of what made a human being. People found socialising easy, and that was just how things were.

Gaara had never found talking to anyone to be particularly satisfying or simple.

"Gaara..." Temari said softly, her eyes wide and horrified. "A-Are you...?"

Gaara did not know what to say. He turned away from her and his knuckles grazed the small cut on his chest. "It hurts, Temari... It's not- It's n-not _fair_."

Temari reached across the table, her movements far too jerky to be considered normal, and made to pat his hand. Her hand fell to her side at the last moment, as if she'd realised just what she was doing.

Gaara glared at the neat row of napkins in front of him. No matter how close they became, Temari was still afraid of him.

"...Are you okay?" Temari finally asked.

Gaara stared out at the forest, watching the figure leap through the trees, and felt distinctly out of place. He could not kid himself into thinking that he belonged here, or anywhere else, so he didn't even try to. He would never quite fit in, no matter how hard he tried to.

Who in their right mind would want to be his friend?

"Why does it feel this way?" Gaara asked quietly, clenching his hands into fists at the sharp pain in his chest. "Does it stop?"

Temari opened and closed her mouth several times, frowning deeply. It was obvious that she did not know what to say to him.

They sat in silence as the sun set. Gaara watched the lone green figure race around the forest.

"Come on," Temari said eventually, her joints cracking as she stood up. "It's getting pretty late."

Gaara sat for a few moments more, standing up only when Temari left for her room. With one last glance at the lonely figure in the forest, Gaara wiped at his eyes and was pleased to find that they were dry. He retreated into his room, wondering at the throbbing in his chest.

-----

You know that button beside the reviews? The 'abuse' one? It sounds like an order, don't it?

'ABUSE! DO IT!'

And I cower in my seat and want to click that button, for fear of being beaten by the bad-asses of FanFiction. net if I do not D:

So review, and get yourself some free abuse!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: How'd you come across these fish, then, boy sonny Jim laddy boy?

**Rating**: Now officially T!

**Warnings**: Hints of man-love, abysmally short chapters, and blood. This kind of creeped me out when I was writing it.

**Spoilers**: Did you know that Shizune died when Pein decimated Konoha? Well, you do now.

-----

Kankurou was bleeding.

Gaara could smell it: coppery and thick and metallic and strong.

The cut was deep, because blood covered the table, a trail of red leading to the bathroom and coating the sink, where Kankurou had tried to clean his wound.

Gaara could not remember the last time that he had bled. It seemed almost impossible that he should bleed. Maybe he had no blood in his veins at all.

His fascination came, perhaps, from the distinct lack of physical blows in his lifetime. He could count on his fingers the total amount of times that he had ever been hit, and he hadn't bled in most of those instances.

Wasn't blood what made humans human? What, then, did that make Gaara, who had never had any proof at all of his humanity?

Gaara wanted to know what the cut looked like.

He wanted to see it. He wanted to stretch it out until it was a thin, red line on Kankurou's arm, and squeeze the blood out of it until there was no more left. He wanted to make it deeper, until he could see Kankurou's pink flesh and his white bones, and the absolute _proof_ of his brother's humanity.

He wanted to feel it on himself. He wanted to feel the burn of _something_ invading him and hurting him and making him bleed, because humans bled, and if Gaara could bleed, then he was a person, too, and he would have something in common with Rock Lee.

Maybe they could talk about it together. Rock Lee was covered in scars; maybe he and Gaara could compare the shades of their blood.

Gaara slipped, and the skin of his palm caught on the edge of the table. He tugged at it with a quiet hiss, a sharp sting radiating from his hand and up his arm.

He was bleeding.

Gaara stood up and stared at the small cut: a crimson bud on his palm, growing, until it collapsed in on itself and blood dripped down his wrist.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Gaara walked into the bathroom and held his hand up beside the sink.

It was red.

His blood was red. Kankurou's blood was red. They were the same.

Gaara had never really had anything in common with anyone before. He did not look like his family; he did not act or think like people his age.

But he was a human, too. The proof was right there, covering his hand and the sink.

He and Rock Lee were the same. Did that mean, then, that Lee missed people, too? Did Lee miss _him_?

Gaara left the apartment quickly, through the kitchen window, and sprinted to the small clearing that Lee had created in the forest, careful to avoid the eyes of the villagers.

Lee trained every day. Gaara would see Lee, and they could talk about how Gaara was finally _normal_.

Gaara had never been normal before. He did not fit in anywhere: he had always been an outcast, but that was okay, because he had long since given up on belonging.

Lee would like Gaara if he was normal. They could be friends.

Orange and red leaves fell from the trees and onto Gaara, who did not brush them off, even though they irritated him somewhat. If he demonstrated that he did not hate trees, then maybe Lee would admire his apparent liking of most of Konoha.

Lee was in the clearing, fallen trees surrounding him. He was panting quietly, and his shirt lay folded some metres away from him.

He stopped punching one of the trees when he saw Gaara approaching, and quickly pulled his shirt back on. Gaara did not mind; he remembered Lee's torso in perfect detail.

"Good afternoon, Kazekage-sama!" Lee greeted, bowing so many times that Gaara wondered if it hurt.

Gaara held up his hand, blood now dripping down his whole arm, and said proudly, "It's red."

Lee stared at it for a few seconds, before his mouth fell open and he shouted, "Kazekage-sama! You must go and wash that, or you will get an infection!"

With a minute shake of his head, Gaara gestured toward Lee's own injured hands and said, "Yours are red, too."

Three words rang in the silence between them, and, though he didn't utter them, Gaara was sure that Lee heard them, too: _We're the same._

Lee looked down at his own hands and said, sounding vaguely horrified, "Of course it is! It is blood!"

Gaara frowned. Lee did not sound impressed. Did he not want to have anything in common with Gaara?

"Did you miss me?" Gaara asked, feeling suddenly nervous.

What if Lee said 'no'?

Lee did a double-take and tripped over his own foot. "W-What?" he stuttered, sounding shocked.

Gaara's frown deepened when he repeated slowly, "Did you miss me?"

If Lee had not missed him, then they had less in common than Gaara had originally thought. If Lee hadn't missed him, then Lee would not want to be friends with him.

"K-Kazekage-sama," Lee stammered, his cheeks reddening. "I... I-It is not..."

Gaara poked the cut on his hand and was surprised when it hurt almost as much as it had when the table had first cut him. Were wounds supposed to hurt after the initial injury?

Lee wiped his hands on his pants, averted his gaze to a squirrel in one of the trees, and blurted in a rush, "O-Of course I did!"

The aching _thing_ in Gaara's chest suddenly exploded, and he clutched at it through his shirt, his breath coming in short gasps.

Someone had, for the first time in his life, missed him.

They had felt the same longing in their chest.

They had thought of him when doing even the most mundane of things, like eating dinner.

Someone had _missed_ him.

_Rock Lee_ had missed him.

And it hurt.

Nothing had ever hurt this much; not even the aching and longing and wanting and emptiness.

"K-Kazekage-sama?" Lee called out uncertainly.

The sand shifted restlessly; Lee took a step back.

"He missed me..." Gaara whispered to himself, his voice so full of wonderment that it did not sound like his own. "He missed me..."

No one had ever missed him before; no one had ever wanted to see him.

Lee wanted to see him.

Lee _wanted_ to see him.

Lee wanted to see _him_.

Did that mean that Lee wanted to be friends, too?

When Lee called out to him again, his head snapped up, and he stared at the boy, who now looked terrified out of his wits.

The sand swirled around Gaara's feet, moving restlessly; it formed familiar shapes - four-leaf clovers, squirrels, lotuses, and turtles - and some things that Gaara was sure existed only in his nightmares - faceless figures that loomed and moved with impossible speed and grace; monsters that bared their teeth and destroyed the fauna around him.

"Ka-Kazekage-sama!" Lee shouted. A branch fell to his left, and he leapt away from it.

Gaara reached out to touch the sand with his injured hand, and winced when it brushed harshly against the wound, opening it wider and spilling his blood onto the forest floor.

He had never felt out of control before.

Even at the height of his insanity, he had been aware of what he was doing, and had not tried to stop; he had been in full control of himself.

But now, a ringing filled his ears and a low, feral sound forced itself from his throat; the sand was dyed red, and he clenched his hand experimentally, snarling again when the cut lengthened.

Lee turned away only for a split-second; he looked behind him for the shortest time, but it was just long enough for the sand to surge toward him and catch him off guard.

The sand pinned Lee to the forest floor, pinching at his skin and soothing it over and bruising him and gently caressing him.

Gaara knelt down beside Lee and watched as the sand whirled about his form. Lee had missed him. Lee _wanted_ him to be this close; Lee wanted to speak to him and spend time with him.

Gaara could not fathom why, and he found that he did not care about Lee's reasoning: Lee had missed him, just as he had missed Lee, and that was all that mattered.

It might have been an eternity before either of them spoke.

Lee finally opened his mouth and asked softly, "Kazekage-sama?"

No one had ever spoken to Gaara like that before - not even Temari and Kankurou.

Something fierce and terrifying burned in Gaara's chest. He angrily pressed his hand into the hard dirt beneath him, and calmed down slightly at the resulting burn.

"I hate you," he whispered, though, had he been anyone else, his tone of voice might have suggested that he meant the exact opposite, and he was sure that he had never before meant the words quite as much as he did then. "I _hate_ you."

Lee's cheeked burned red when he closed his eyes and mumbled, "I know, Kazekage-sama. You do not have to tell me so."

Lee did not understand; no one _could_ understand. Lee had made Gaara doubt: Lee had made Gaara feel, even if it was for the shortest time, that his thoughts were not right or normal.

Gaara had never doubted himself before Rock Lee; he hated change.

He hated Lee.

-----

Ahaha! I'm feeling rigid!

You should never go out on Black Lake when the moon be full.

I'm being all insane-like again.

Someone, please beat me with a stick before I lose it completely.

(What is 'it', I wonder?)

Goodnight, Las Vegas!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Because when the sun shines, we shine together :D

**Rating**: Now officially T!

**Warnings**: Hints of man-love, abysmally short chapters, and weirdness :D

**Spoilers**: If you've not yet heard that Pein's real name is Nagato, I totally just told you.

-----

That he spent hours a day watching Rock Lee did not see abnormal to Gaara. They never spoke to each other, but Gaara was not so arrogant as to believe that Lee had not realised his presence. Every so often, Lee paused in his training, and the way that he deliberately avoided glancing in Gaara's direction communicated that Lee was not as inattentive as Gaara would have liked to believe.

Still, they did not acknowledge each other, and Gaara found that he preferred it this way.

What would he have said, anyway?

He thought that it was, perhaps, a twisted sense of pride that prevented Lee from saying anything, and his chest tightened unexpectedly.

He did not feel entirely ashamed of his words, but he wasn't proud of them, either. Something inside of Gaara's stomach squirmed uncomfortably whenever he thought about it.

He wished that there was a way to wipe the unhappy frown from Lee's face. More than anything else, Gaara wanted to take back his words.

Was this what regret felt like?

There were so many questions swimming in Gaara's mind that he had trouble focussing properly; he felt somewhat dizzied.

Should he apologise?

Would it be a lie if he apologised?

Would Lee want him to apologise?

What would Lee do if he _did_ apologise?

Would Lee want to be his friend if he apologised?

Why was this so complicated?

He felt somehow choked up by these strange emotions that had never mattered to him before. He found that he had never before cared quite so much about what anyone thought as he did about what Lee did.

He had never felt quite so human before, and had not yet decided whether he liked it or not.

So it made perfect sense that he should watch Lee. Lee was the most openly emotional and undeniably _human_ person that Gaara could think of: if Gaara had any chance of understanding whatever it was that he was experiencing, it was through observing Lee.

He had not considered the fact that Lee was capable of independent thought. He had assumed that Lee would stay silent until he had finished figuring out what these feelings meant.

He was, therefore, very surprised when Lee suddenly stopped mid-punch and asked very calmly, "Why are you watching me, Kazekage-sama?"

Gaara, caught unawares, did not reply.

Lee turned around fully and eyed Gaara warily, providing Gaara with a not entirely unappealing glimpse of his chest, before he modestly hid it with his hands. "You made your feelings toward me very clear last week," Lee said quietly. He did not back away from Gaara's murderous expression; he did not step back, even when the sand began to swirl about Gaara's form. "Please, Kazekage-sama, at least show me enough respect to just leave me alone."

It was painfully obvious, and not entirely unexpected.

Lee did not want to see him.

Something stabbed at his chest, and it hurt almost as much as the healing cut on his hand. Gaara pressed his hand into his thigh, hissing at the sharp sting of his wound reopening, and his fingers twitched. The sand surged forward before he could stop it, and forced Lee to the ground.

Gaara slowly approached Lee, his glare unfaltering, and stated quietly, "I tried, Lee... No one can ever say that I didn't."

The sand pressed against Lee's oesophagus. Gaara fought against the suddenly almost overwhelming temptation to let it simply crush Lee into oblivion.

Lee's face turned a dark purple as he choked out, "Ka-Kazekage-sama!"

Gaara did not know exactly what he intended to do; only that he needed Lee to hurt.

Lee needed to feel just one ounce of the confusion and hesitance and fear and pain that Gaara had been experiencing for weeks.

Lee had to understand why Gaara was doing this.

It wasn't his fault.

He had tried so hard to figure out what all of these feelings meant. He had tried to pretend that they didn't exist. He had tried to accept them. He had tried to make them go away.

But they persisted, and Gaara could make no sense of them. They were hurting him.

And it was _Lee's_ fault.

Something hot and familiar surged through Gaara's veins. The sand tightened its hold around Lee's throat. Gaara did not regret it, even for a moment.

Gaara knelt beside Lee and murmured, "I... I tried, Lee."

A stray tendril of sand gently brushed Lee's hair from his face. Gaara felt Lee's skin distinctly on himself, as if the sand was his own skin.

"I... didn't think that I could..." Gaara paused momentarily to swallow around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "These... These _feelings_, Lee..."

Lee's eyes widened when some of the sand strayed from his neck to his collarbones, down his chest, to rest heavily on his abdomen. "K-Kazekage-sama... P-... Please..."

Gaara's fists clenched and the sand squeezed Lee for a short moment. "I don't understand them, Lee..." he whispered. "Do they usually feel like this?"

He felt the sudden, inexplicable need to _understand_ and to impress the intensity of these feelings onto Lee.

There was a tugging in his chest and he laid his palm against the sand on Lee's stomach. He could almost feel Lee. Almost.

It was more than close enough for Gaara.

"I... do not kn-know... what... y-you are... talking a-about..." Lee gasped. His face was turning an odd shade of puce.

The sand on Lee's throat shifted slightly, and Lee drew in great, shuddering gulps of air.

"I missed you," Gaara admitted softly. "It hurt. Did it hurt you, too?"

Lee's cheeks unexpectedly flushed. Gaara immediately wanted to take back his words. Had he done something wrong?

Lee looked anywhere but at Gaara when he answered, "...Every day, Kazekage-sama."

Gaara's skipped a beat and, for a second, he choked on his own breath.

Didn't Lee hate him?

Wasn't that what this was all about?

Feeling even more confused than before, Gaara confessed unwillingly, "I don't understand you."

It hurt to admit it; Gaara had never been anything other than sure of himself. Admitting that he was completely unsure of anything was an almost crippling blow to his pride.

Somehow, though, when Lee's lips twisted into a smile that was full of melancholy, it didn't feel so bad.

"There is not very much worth understanding," Lee said, "you made that clear enough yesterday."

Gaara felt a twinge of something unpleasant in his chest. He had never felt guilty before, so he didn't know if that was it. He found that he didn't really care to find out what it was, just as long as it went away soon.

He could not quite Lee's eyes when he muttered uncomfortably, "...It's... not the same," and feigned sudden interest in the trees surrounding them.

Was this the moment in which he was supposed to apologise?

More importantly, would he mean it if he did, and would Lee appreciate it?

Gaara clenched his fist, not flinching when his nails dug into his injured palm. He did not attempt to hide his glare when he said, his voice tight, "I... I didn't mean it."

Lee's shock was obvious. Gaara felt something inside his chest clench painfully.

The words felt awkward on his lips and he stumbled over them when he continued haltingly, "I just... It _hurts_."

He half-expected Lee to laugh at him; he almost expected Lee to understand.

Lee closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He said nothing, but did not seem entirely content with letting Gaara flounder pathetically.

They stared at each other for the longest time, Gaara seemingly hyper-aware of the fact that his hand had not moved from the sand covering Lee's abdomen. He pulled it away quickly, his fingers feeling distinctly burned.

Lee sighed again and finally spoke, "Are you going to let me up, Kazekage-sama?"

Gaara stood up far too quickly, the sand creeping away from Lee's body.

"Thank you, Kazekage-sama," Lee said, wheezing slightly as he stood. "I... apologise for whatever wrong I have committed against you. Please accept my most sincere apologies." Lee bowed gracefully and continued, "I know that you do not want to see me, so I will leave now. It was nice to see you, Kazekage-sama." He turned around and started walking away.

Gaara felt a sharp pang of longing as he watched Lee's retreating figure; it combined with the odd leaping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, and make him feel quite ill.

"Gaara," Gaara said quietly enough that he barely heard himself, though he was sure, somehow, that it carried to Lee, who was barely metres away. "My name is Gaara."

Gaara had never attempted any form of intimacy with anyone. He found that he missed his old life, where nothing mattered to him that was not himself.

Lee stumbled slightly when he shot Gaara a startled glance over his shoulder. He quickly regained his footing and smiled brightly, his voice impossibly ha- content when he whispered to himself, "Gaara-sama. _Gaara_-sama. Gaara-_sama_..."

The word somehow lost its negative connotations when it rolled off of Lee's tongue and spilled from his lips, his low voice almost tentatively testing emphasis on each syllable.

Gaara's fingers trembled, his breaths seeming far too short and quick. Lee was smiling because of him. He had done something to make Lee smile. _He_ had caused Lee's delighted expression; _he_ was the one who had made Lee so satisfied; Lee was saying his _name_, and he didn't sound afraid or angry or anxious.

"What... What does it feel like?" Gaara asked curiously. His chest felt suddenly free of the burden that had been weighing it down for weeks, and his stomach churned.

Lee tilted his head to the side and enquired, "What does what feel like, Kazekage-sama?"

Gaara's expression fell somewhere between an apprehensive grimace and an inquisitive frown when he reached up to touch his lips. They were cold and chapped and thin, and, though he was sure that they could never form such a pleasant curve as Lee's could, he was almost proud of the small twitch in the corner of his mouth.

He did not answer, but Lee's smile did not fade. In fact, it seemed to brighten.

Gaara's fingers clenched around the hem of his shirt, and he quickly left the forest.

He had a lot to tell Kankurou.

-----

Sone te hanasanaide- hanasanaide!

So I've been watching Junjou Romantica like a mad-man.

This chapter ain't so crash-hot. Long story short: School has been calling my name, and my math teacher is an arse.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: Because when the sun shines, we shine together :D

**Rating**: Now officially T!

**Warnings**: Hints of man-love, abysmally short chapters, and weirdness :D

**Spoilers**: BLARGH.

"So..." Kankurou muttered, his brow creased, "let me get this straight. You told Lee you hate him, almost killed him again, and... and then you told him to call you 'Gaara'?"

Gaara nodded and said, his voice choked, "I don't understand, Kankurou. He said my name, and I..." Gaara clenched his fist in his hair and turned away, frustrated with his own inability to understand. "No one has ever said my name like that. What am I...?"

Kankurou cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "Umm... How, exactly, did he say your name?"

"Gaara-sama," Gaara murmured. It sounded throaty and harsh and filled with nothing less than utter loathing; it sounded nothing like Lee. Gaara shook his head minimally and tried again, "Gaara-_sama_..."

Kankurou ran a finger along the rim of his glass when he said, "No offense, but that doesn't really sound like Lee."

Gaara frowned. "...I know..."

"So... remind me what the point of this was?" Kankurou asked. Gaara looked up at Kankurou suspiciously. "Not that I don't like talking to you or anything..." he added quickly.

Though he did not have a taste for the overly dramatic, Gaara sighed. "It's just so..." Angered, he tugged at his hair. "I want to understand this, Kankurou..."

Kankurou's discomfort was clear in his voice when he said apprehensively, "Look, Gaara... Just... Just think about how it made you feel..."

The crease in Gaara's brow deepened. "I've tried. It's why I came to you; I can't figure it out."

"Okay," Kankurou said, nodding to himself. "Okay. Do you think you might like him?"

Gaara drew in a sharp breath and hissed, "_What_?"

He did not _like_ people. He did not _need_ to like people. With like came familiarity, and with familiarity came dependence.

Gaara did not need anyone.

Kankurou raised his hands defensively. "I just want you to think about this, okay?" With a grudging nod from Gaara, Kankurou continued, "Do you want to see him?"

Gaara glared at the table, frustrated with himself. He didn't know if he wanted to see Lee. He did not vehemently oppose the idea, but just the thought of speaking to Lee again made his stomach cramp painfully.

"I... don't know," he answered honestly.

Kankurou sighed and grasped the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb. "Do you never want to see him again?"

Gaara shook his head. The thought of never seeing Lee again - and being plagued by the awful weight in his chest forever - was not a pleasant one.

Nodding, though it was obvious that he was growing more confused by the minute, Kankurou enquired, "Do you like spending time with him?"

"I... I think that I..." Gaara murmured to himself, his fingers clenching around the material of his pants. "Yes, I think so."

Kankurou's drink unexpectedly spread across the table. Both of them ignored it.

With an unusually serious expression on his face, Kankurou asked, "Do you care who talks to him?"

Gaara shook his head. He would not restrict Lee's rights, regardless of how much they upset him.

"Would you care if someone dated him?"

Gaara stood up, his cheeks flushing. "What does this have to do with anything, Kankurou?" he asked quietly.

His heart hurt. Gaara did not want Lee to smile because of anyone other than him.

He was being selfish.

He didn't care.

"Just answer me," Kankurou said. There was something entirely not right about his voice, and Gaara felt himself sit down and close his eyes before he was aware of even doing it.

"I... I don't know," Gaara sighed.

There was a sudden, loud sound: Kankurou's hand was flat against the table. "Stop saying that," he demanded loudly. "You do know, so stop lying. You're not stupid, Gaara - don't try to act like you are."

Gaara's hands shook when he clenched them around his shirt. He didn't know what to say. He did not want Lee to date anyone. If he could have his way, then Lee would never see another human being again - so long as Lee could still smile during this arrangement, of course.

If Lee was unhappy, then so Gaara was, as well; he could not stand the thought of going through more pain, though.

"I don't want him to," Gaara wondered aloud, frowning. "Why would he- No, he's not going to. He _won't_."

Kankurou stepped away from the table. "You know what I think."

Gaara stared out of the window and down at Konoha. The forest was empty.

His heart heavy, Gaara murmured, "I don't want to be his friend."

"Exactly," Kankurou sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked nervous and agitated and almost fearful. "What do you want from him, Gaara? If you don't like him and you don't want to be his friend, then what are you doing?"

Gaara wondered if Kankurou was aware of just how many times Gaara had asked himself those exact questions. "I don't know what I want from him," Gaara said quietly. "What does it mean to have a friend?"

Kankurou managed to seem awkward and unnerved and apprehensive, all at once, when he replied haltingly, "It means... It means you like someone. It means you want to spend time with them. It means you like to make them happy." Clearly uncomfortable, Kankurou said, "Maybe you should ask Temari. She's a girl. She gets this kind of thing."

With a shake of his head, Gaara responded, "No. I don't want to talk to Temari." Kankurou sighed despairingly, and Gaara added, "She puts milk in my tea."

It was a feeble attempt at humour. Kankurou did not laugh.

"Have you spoken to the therapy pillow?" Kankurou asked weakly.

Gaara snorted quietly. "No, I haven't."

Kankurou did not look surprised when he said uncomfortably, "Look, I know it seems stupid, but Temari says it's a good-"

Gaara sighed and stood quickly. He did not want to speak to Kankurou or the therapy pillow or Temari or anyone else.

What _did_ he want?

"Goodnight, Kankurou," he said as he left for his bedroom. He did not sleep and was not surprised; he stared at the blank expanse of his ceiling for a long time. The lump pillow beneath his head somehow did not seem therapeutic in the slightest, even when he rolled over and sighed into it.

What was he going to do?

Lol, over a year without an update... Wow.


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